Kalvin grips my hand tightly, drawing me closer with a slight tug.

After months of swashbuckling behaviour we've finally bonded. A fact my parents are all too fond of.

Initially, I considered just keeping my distance to spite them, but Kalvin is persistent, dastardly fool. Although... his friendship with Bellamy did expedite matters considerably. Bellamy would never allow a threat close to me, which means that either he trusts Kalvin explicitly or is close by during our 'unsupervised visits,' in the absence of my parents.

But it is a bit difficult to entertain thoughts of Bellamy when Kalvin has me sandwiched between the stone castle wall and his equally stony body.

My gulp seems impossibly loud in the silence of our intimacy. One hand remains gripped tightly gripped in mine, his warmth seeping into my chilly bones. His other hand moves languidly down my left arm, trailing down my fingers; caressing with an unhurried ease. He stops at my engagement ring; a titanium band holding large rock embedded with rubies and sapphires.

Removing it, he stares at it for a second, then stares back at me. Maintaining eye-contact, he tosses it into the rosemary bush across the path.

My mind churns, stirring the worry induced acid in my stomach. In that moment I feel truly nauseous. Worse yet, I'm forced to look at him. His pleasant expression... like he hadn't just led me on...

He pushes off the wall, leaving my back pressed against it's icy resistance. My breath hitches as he moves further away, and just when I'm at the point of grabbing him he falls.

Instinctively, I attempt to pull him up.

His laugh echoes through our private nook.

"Angelica." He states, remaining in his crouched position. "Will you marry me?"

With the most nervous and unsure expression I've ever seen him don, he presents the ring. Bewildered, I stare at him agape. Did just dispose of my engagement ring only to replace it two seconds later?

"Will you marry me?" he repeats, immediately drawing me back into the oh so tormenting present. "Would you, still, even if our parents didn't condone it? I'm asking: will you marry me... Bellamy. Not the prince, but me. I want you to know that over these past months it's been a life changing experience and I'm actually looking forward to spending my life with you, building new roots with you. I love you Angelica."

Thoroughly speechless, I gape at him mutely.

He's still on bended knee, with hopefully scared brown eyes gazing back at me. all of a sudden my lips seem glued shut and no matter how hard I try I can't pry them open, of course, the one time I actually need my mouth, it's gone on holiday. My tear glands gladly compensate, working double time to eviscerate my barrier, sending torrents of tear drops cascading down my cheeks.

With the image of his proposal cemented on my cornea forever more, I nod my head fervently, hoping he can see the answer past the haze of my tears and lack of response.

With a relieved chuckle, he stands, slowly slipping the ring on.

Back from vacation and newly rejuvenated my lips find his in a sloppy dance of tongues. I kiss him with everything I have and he returns the favour with perfect equivalence.

By the time we're forced to stop, the wall behind me seems ten degrees hotter.

"Let's go back to your room." he suggests, breathing harshly in my ear.

"No." I gasp, "The gardens." Bellamy might lose track of us there.

We trip and giggle, rushing over our own feet to get to the garden. We both know what's going to happen. We both crave it.

Kalvin lays beneath me in the sharp strands of grass, our lips melding together while I grant his hands free reign, his hand moves slowly up my knee leaving an army of goose bumps behind him.

Achoo!

His hand instantly vanishes. The only trace of its presence is the long, tingling patch of sensitized nerves.

Achoo!

Bellamy throws himself out of the peony bush, rolling on the grass and sneezing in rhythm.

I scowl at him, marching over I move to slap him but Kalvin stops me, laughing like a maniac.

"He's just allergic to the peonies," he says, raising a perfectly pink blossom to his nostrils. "Too bad." He states, picking away idly at the poor flower, "My family has these for des-"

"Angelica!" Ruspin stares at me blandly, his arms reside in their natural position: crossed over his chest like an impenetrable barrier.

The potency of that dream still clogs my mind like hair in the bathroom drain. I stare at him numbly, trying to think of anything to say. My mind keeps drifting back to that day and for some reason I'm afraid he can sense it.

I feel a rush of tears gathering behind my eyes, desperately trying to demolish my barrier as my heart beats in an unsteady rhythm.

My dream melds unpleasantly with the battle, details fade and blur and scatter like an ant colony. Leaving me a confused wreck.

Regaining my composure, I ask him, "Was I a valiant hero?"

He shrugs.

"You were ready for battle." He states. Looking past him, I note the drab interior of his 'business' office; he may as well call it the lair. "But as you were ready to run off, I tranquilized you."

"What?" I exclaim, despising the fact that I can't even burst his eardrums with my banshee screaming.

"Why would you do that?" I demand. I jolt upright, my wooziness not even putting a damper on my rage. "You've seen me fight."

"I've seen you get shot. By my own soldier, no less" He retorts, glaring at me warily.

"Your logic amazes me." I snap, flipping him off. His blue-green eyes sharpen, glaring at me with drilling intensity. "You were the one most at risk!"

"I had an army at my disposal Angelica. I've fought in wars before and even though you are a skilled combatant at close proximity... that was different. There were so many angles to consider. You could've been shot and killed from a multitude of vantage points." He says maintaining that obnoxious, holier than thou attitude of his

"Great." I sneer, "I hadn't realised that oh wise one. You do realise that I'm no longer your employee, you can't just expect me to follow your every command like you're my bloody puppet master."

"Drop it Angelica." He hisses; composure cracking much like a weather-beaten ancient wall.

"Yes my King." I growl back, infusing the statement with as much sarcasm as humanly possible.

Ruspin sighs harshly, running a hand through his hair in a disconcerting manner. His entire posture seems to relax suddenly, as though against his will. "I apologise Angelica."

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. "You're not." I retort.

Shrugging, he agrees, "I'm not, but that seemed the most efficient way to diffuse the situation."

Shaking my head at my own weakness, I glance at him, "It seems to have been successful."

Arguing with him is such a taxing experience, and as much as I know his views on taxation, I'm doing ending this argument to end my suffering. There's no way I'm letting him give me greys before I'm due!

But really, my only desire is to go home and see Cage. I've missed him quite a bit during the course of this ordeal.

One glance at Ruspin's wounded expression has me reconsidering.

Well... maybe seeing Cage could be put off a bit. Besides he'd probably be ten degrees of pissed at me for not calling. Especially when he finds out about my trip to dear ole mom and dad's place.

Maintaining eye contact with him, I pick my words meticulously, "Ruspin all I want is a little respect from you, something that tells me that you can appreciate me and my input. I understand that you don't want me to die a brutal death, but I'm not impotent." I stare at him expression, hoping for some indication that he's understood, that he's willing to compromise, even just a smidge.

Even after all this, his opinion of me remains an elusive mystery. At times he seems to really take my opinions into account, but there are times that he over-rides me so effortlessly... without even discussing the issue.

Licking his lips, he considers me. "I do trust you Angelica. And I value your opinion." He marches closer, taking hold of my shoulders with a tenderness that throws me, "That's why I'm appointing you as my advisor. If you want the position that is."

"Why would you need an advisor?" 'Would he even listen to an advisor?' is the better question.

"The king stopped the battle." He mutters sourly, his lips pinching in accordance, "Both our forces were compelled to stand down. The king has linked with the Asian army. Kalvin is connected." He pauses a moment for me to digest.

After his death, I'd supressed that memory, not wanting to taint it with my bitter sadness. Why did it have to resurface now? Being reminded of his disloyalty so soon after that dream is debilitating. But under Ruspin's scrutiny I refuse to show it.

"But, some reporters were there." He continues, smirking, and I immediately realise that they didn't just show up randomly to get the scoop. "They publicised the whole affair and now that the public wants to have a vote. The king can't stop this, not while it's reached this far. The kingdom is officially in the market."

I cock my head, "Getting an advisor is prudent, but what about the third batch of soldiers? They were Michelangelo's weren't they?"

Forcing the answer through gritted teeth, he says, "Yes. That's why I need you. When he's around, he destroys every semblance of rational thought."

I frown, "You handled him well when he came to your office." I state.

"That was when I knew I had the upper hand." He mutters, "Everything has become warped beyond my expectations." He gestures towards the window with a prolonged sigh.

Cautiously I move towards it. My approach is masked by the untamed ruckus emanating from the streets below. Reporters and civilians flank the street, some so desperate as to climb the adjacent begonia tree just to find a better vantage point. Not a moment after my face graces the window flashing lights go off.

They've completely blocked all exits. Monty and Annalise roam the crowd, dispatching of cameras with deadly precision, but there's just too many, and more people are flocking in with every minute. Stepping away from the chaos beneath me, I find Ruspin slouched in his chair.

"This wasn't supposed to happen." He grumbles, his voice laced with defeat.

And that chills me to the bone.

"I wasn't supposed to get this much attention."

Umm... "You do know that kings tend to attract the paparazzi?" I question.

He always plans in advance. Everyone knows that royalty requires full public exposure. I find it queer that Ruspin, the most conniving, sensitized person I've met has no knowledge of this fact. His life revolves around fact. He's scrimped and saved to get where he is... how could he not realise the detriments of the job?

A loud knock interrupts his answer... or rather lack of one.

Monty enters holding a large bouquet of peonies. He pulls up short, glancing at the flowers accusingly. Mr Garrison stands, and I feel his iciness return. He marches past me and snatches the flowers from Monty with a stern expression.

"Those for me?" I ask with a grin.

Ruspin glances at Monty, who briskly rushes out of the room, then glances at me. "I anticipated a large fall out when I rendered you unconscious." He offers them to me, "Mitigation."

Grinning, I accept them gratefully. Marvelling at his gift giving prowess.

Inhaling the scent of the flowers, I freeze as a slow chill nips at my heels, making it's way up my veins sending a wave of realisation reverberating through my body.

In my flashback, Bellamy was allergic to peonies... but Kalvin wasn't. I think back to my tenure at Michelangelo's in horror wondering how I missed it.

This means... this means... Kalvin isn't Kalvin.